


I’ll Be Your Knight In Shining Armor, Bud

by Hockey_Himbros



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Smut, mostly that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hockey_Himbros/pseuds/Hockey_Himbros
Summary: It isn’t like a problem the way TK had immediately come to Kevin’s defense in the game Friday. Hanging over the partition to yell obscenities at Lemieux. He reminds Hayes of one of those yappy purse dogs sometimes, all bark and bite and white sharp teeth.And killer arms.And stupid as shit tattoos.And maybe, yeah okay, it’s a little bit of a problem.
Relationships: Kevin Hayes/Travis Konecny
Comments: 5
Kudos: 189





	I’ll Be Your Knight In Shining Armor, Bud

**Author's Note:**

> The Flyers/Rangers games last weekend gave me way too much to think about. Apparently stress and writing porn are hand in hand for me.
> 
> The following work is fiction and by no means has any bearing on these real dudes and their real lives.

Playing back in New York for real, during the rush for the playoffs is going to be harder than anything Kevin Hayes has had to do in a long time. It shouldn’t feel like a violation, entering Madison Square Garden after he spent so many formative years on its ice. But it does. Down his spine and through his balls and all the way to his toes. A wrongness.

It doesn’t help that The Rangers had given him no quarter in their game friday. The chirping and the downright shittalking and the rougher than normal checks. Hayes had laughed about it of course, when Lemieux had been all up in his face, but that’s all a part of it. Still sits in Kevin’s gut long after the game has ended.

And he can’t help but remember the way TK had immediately come to his defense. Hanging over the partition to yell obscenities at Lemieux. He reminds Hayes of one of those yappy purse dogs sometimes, all bark and bite and white sharp teeth.

And killer arms.

And stupid as shit tattoos.

It’s not even like the situation had been all that special. TK is always the one with his ass right in the middle of the scrum. If he’s on the ice during a fight there’s almost a triple digit chance he’s in the thick of it. But something about it still felt special; TK’s particular brand of tongue-in-cheek viciousness that Kevin hadn’t heard since Konecny’s crowed, “Fuck you, Savard,” after that overtime win against the Blue Jackets over two games prior. 

They’re supposed to be getting some sleep because the game tomorrow is an early one and it always sucks to play early away from home but Kevin just can’t. The feeling of unsettled disquiet hasn’t left him. It should be no different than October had been, but it is different.

“You thinkin’ deep shit over there, Hayes,” TK asks.

Hayes takes a breath, glances over to where TK is sprawled out across his own bed. They don’t generally share a room on the road, they’re both at the point with this push and this season where they’re afforded their own space. But TK had offered after the game last night and Hayes had sort of just agreed and now here they are.

“I mean, it’s not like I don’t find the Netflix menu fascinating, bud, but we’ve kinda just been staring at it for like fifteen minutes now,” TK says. “You wanna pick something or this gonna be the night for us?”

“Sorry,” Kevin says. “I’m just—,”

“Thinkin’ deep shit,” TK finishes for him. Grinning. “Care to share with the class?”

Kevin swallows. He shrugs. Moves his hands in a restless, aimless sort of circle. “Being back is just...weirder than I made it out to be.”

“The Rangers. Fucking Lemieux. What’s that guy’s deal anyway? He’s not like Staal or something. Like they traded you for him. If anyone has the right to be pissed in that match up, it’s you.”

“I know.”

“But we beat ‘em and we’ll do it again. Tomorrow.” TK glances at the clock. “Too fucking early. I hate midday games.” He flops back into the pillows. Kevin is amazed at TK’s high energy, how he is just vibrating with it even now after a day of travel. TK huffs, rolls onto his side, considering Kevin from across the space between their beds. Then he slithers from his, down onto the floor and up onto the foot of Kevin’s bed.

Kevin doesn’t ask what he’s doing, he just moves his legs to make room for the 5’10” Canadian crowding into his space.

“Wanna talk about it?” TK asks.

Kevin grins. He shakes his head, interlacing his fingers across his lap the way he does in interviews. “Offering to get all in our feelings with me, Teeks?”

TK socks him in the knee. His smile is bright and wide and white. “I mean it, man. I know I can’t exactly relate but—better than a reporter maybe?”

Part of Kevin wants to keep joking, keep those time-honored, arm-length barriers in place. But TK’s expression is as open and honest as he ever seems to be and Kevin feels his steady winning smile kind of catch as he says, “Why’d you step in, last night? With Lemieux?”

TK shrugs. Punches Kevin again, a little higher, getting him the tender meat of his thigh. “I’m not gonna just stand there while some asshole talks trash about you, right? You wouldn’t stand for it for me.”

Which is true, but some part of Kevin is stuck in the caveman mindset. He’s bigger than TK, he’s stronger in an out and out fight than TK, he’s supposed to play the protector role. And yeah it’s like some shit he probably needs to unlearn because TK barely needs his protection at all, but the instinct is still there, kicking beneath his skin.

“I just don’t want you hurt on my account. Especially not to Lemieux, Teeks.”

“Dude, fuck him.”

And Kevin doesn’t know why he says it, what fucking brain injury he must have sustained that makes the next sentence slip completely unimpeded from his mouth, but he looks directly at TK and says, “Well, what if I did.”

For a second TK’s mouth opens like he’s going about continuing the conversation as normal. Then it snaps shut, and his eyes narrow and his brows scrunch. It’s a wildly fantastic facial journey that TK goes on, every step in the Kubler-Ross cycle ticked off. His eyebrows skitter nearly into his hairline. “Did you,” he sputters finally. “Like I mean, that’s cool if you did, bud. I guess. Did you? Really? Not that I’m—judgement free zone, right? But like really? Lemieux though?”

Kevin laughs, shakes his head. He doesn’t know what made him say it, but TK is so fucking earnest he can’t even hope to sustain the lie. “No,” he says. “I didn’t really.”

The breath TK lets out is explosive, audibly popping from his lips. He collapses against Kevin’s chest, sagging dramatically. “Jesus Christ thank god! You can’t tease me like that! You’re actually going to give me a heart attack—err, sorry, not like—,”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not a gay thing, Haysie. I didn’t mean it like a ‘thank God you don’t fuck dudes’ thing. Cuz, you know, I’m literally the last person to—”

“I get it, Teeks,” Kevin says.

But TK is sort of on a roll and Kevin knows from experience just how hard it is to stop the diatribe once it’s started. TK is nodding, but he’s still talking over Kevin’s gracious acceptance, unable to pump the brakes, spiraling down the hill of his words.

“Seriously, like, fuck whoever you want. I just, I want to believe the dudes you’re getting look better than goddamn Brendan Lemieux. You’re way hotter than him, Haysie. So, so much hotter and it sort of—,”

“You think I’m hot,” Kevin asks. He isn’t faking even a single ounce of the amazement in his tone. He’s used to praise for his playing, for his attitude, his big smiles and ability to get almost anyone to laugh. He is not exactly known as a pretty boy, even if he’s got the rocking body of any hockey player underneath his pads.

TK blinks again. His face journey is shorter this time, and ends in a pronounced scowl. “I’m not handing out freebies here, bud. You can’t trick me into feeding your ego, saying it again.”

“Nah, man. I just didn’t know you felt that way about me.”

And it must sound sincere because TK’s expression softens. The good guy peeking out from beneath the chirpy little shit. “Have you like...looked at yourself, Kev? Like ever? Of course I think you’re banging.”

Kevin feels himself flush, grin tugging reflexively at the corner of his mouth. Even solicited the praise makes something bright spark down in the pit of Kevin’s belly. A slow behemoth, remembering its own existence, neglected beneath all the demands of a pro-hockey life at twenty-seven.

“What’s that smile,” TK says. He pinches the skin of Kevin’s cheek, where it dimples when he grins from the side of his mouth. “Hayes, I swear, I’m never complimenting you again if you’re gonna be a smug dick about it!”

“Not trying to be,” Kevin says. His defense sounds weak even to his own ears, but he’s distracted. TK’s hand is warm, his fingers are warm, and terribly alive. And that thing that had shifted in Kevin’s gut is awake now and curling up, up, up toward the light. And he’s never really considered TK in any sort of fashion beyond fantastic fucking player and chirpy sort of sidekick but TK is touching him and looking at him and smiling and calling him handsome.

And fighting for him.

TK’s smile wavers just the littlest bit. Silence falls heavy and leaden between them. TK’s gaze falls to where he is holding Kevin’s face, then flicks over to his lips where it sticks for just a beat too long. Not that Kevin is guilty of anything less. His tongue darts out, moistens his bottom lip like some sort of dare and TK takes a sharp, indrawn breath.

He lets go of Kevin’s cheek like he’s been scalded. Clutches his hand to his chest. His pupils are fucking huge, soaking up the sight of Kevin who blushing again for real now, face hot and tight with it. TK’s own tongue lingers just at the corner of his mouth, where it lodges in games when he is taking the hard shot, when he is flying on instinct.

“So like I’m pretty sure the only way to make this not fucking awkward as shit is just to make out at this point,” TK says because TK is a vast pool of knowledge and shamelessness.

“Is that what we need?”

“You’d rather just, what? Keep talking? Want me to tell you how hot you are when you score, Kev? Your stupid fuckin’ cellies, man? This just some ego tr—,”

Kevin grabs TK by the collar, hauls him bodily into a kiss. He’s so much bigger than TK and those caveman instincts know exactly what to do with that. He sinks his free hand into TK’s ugly, messy, stupid hair, gets their faces slotted together and just sort of opens his mouth into TK’s.

It’s not going on any list of Kevin’s greatest kisses, that’s for goddamn sure, but it does the trick.

TK hums something, because of course he can’t just be quiet, and his own hands come up to cup Kevin’s jaw. They keep it up for a minute or so, just slow lazy, exploratory kisses, not particularly hurried or frantic. Kevin appreciates the lack of pressure he feels from it, the light nibbles against his bottom lip, TK’s teeth, TK’s tongue.

When they break away, TK’s eyes are dark and his lips are red and shiny and he’s smiling like the cat that gobbled the entire canary, that ripped thing apart feather by feather, bone by bone. “Wow, that really does do it for you, doesn’t it, Haysie?”

Somewhere in the kissing, he’s come to straddle Kevin’s lap. Kevin’s fingers are hopelessly tangled in TK’s sweaty hair, right at the nape of his neck where they grow in all tender and curly.

“Gotta admit,” TK continues, squeezing his thighs around Kevin’s hips, “didn’t really see this being the way our night would go. Didn’t really take you for the sort.”

“Like a gay thing?”

“Nah, like a me thing. I guess.”

“I think you’re hot too, you know,” Kevin says. He maybe should have said it earlier, should have traded the compliment when it could have been read more innocuously. It seems kind of throw-away to say it now, with TK already in his bed and already down for...for whatever—Kevin hasn’t thought that far ahead.

“I’m not Gisele levels of hot though.”

“Yeah, well, Gisele probably wouldn’t have started a fight with Brendan Lemieux for me.”

“That turns you on, eh, big guy? Me fighting your battles. Fucking someone’s shit up for ya.”

And it shouldn’t but it does. It really does. TK all pushed up in some bigger guy’s face, shooting his shit off, hands and teeth and his stupid hair and his nose and his attitude and just—fuck—

“Fuck,” Kevin grunts when TK pushes down against him.

“That’s not an answer, Kev. Do you think it’s hot when I take some asshole down a peg for you?”

“Yeah.”

TK’s smile at that confession can really only be called feral. It’s all canines and joy, all filthy promise and innuendo. “Say it,” he says.

“I like it when you defend me,” Kevin says. “When you push some bigger guy around. It-yeah, it turns me on, when you fight like that.” Snapping at their heels, waspish, chirpy Konecny.

“So let’s do something about it, Kev,” TK says. Then he rolls off the bed. In anyone else the motion might read suave, seductive. But it’s TK and he’s never going to be more or less than he is and he hits the nightstand mid-scramble hard enough to rattle the lamp. “Don’t laugh,” he snaps as he rights himself, grabs his duffle and roots through it. He finds whatever he was digging for, tosses it over and only just misses Kevin’s head. A travel-sized bottle of lube, broken seal, almost half empty. Kevin picks it up, raises an eyebrow at TK and doubles over with laughter again. “Stop laughing, Haysie, get your damn clothes off.”

Kevin rolls his eyes and eventually does stop laughing. Just long enough to pull the sweatshirt over his head, to push his sweats down past his knees and off his legs. It’s not a particularly sexy strip on either of their parts, but Kevin isn’t complaining. That isn’t them, showy bedroom-eyeing, lingering teases. That isn’t them, that isn’t this.

Kevin doesn’t really know what this is.

TK’s naked when he flops back onto the bed, collapses down onto it and onto Kevin so that the mattress creaks beneath their weight. The bare skin of his arms and legs is as warm as his fingers had been. He’s jacked, playoff-push muscles all sculpted and sure and Kevin rolls the two of them over, fights his way on top with TK’s leg slotted between his thighs, and just runs his fingers along the lines of them.

“Damn, Teeks,” he says.

“Yeah, says you. Mister ‘oh I didn’t know I was hot, Teeks, honest’. Fuck off, man.” TK’s warbled Boston accent is exaggerated, not endearing in the least. Kevin kisses him silent, or mostly silent, TK is right back to chirping as soon as they part. “Jesus, Kev, seriously, bro. These tits? This ass? You didn’t know you were hot? You’re such a liar.”

He’s got a double handful of that ass as he says it. Wriggling down beneath Kevin’s bulk to really get his hands on it. Kneading Kevin’s cheeks together, tugging them apart. Sliding a dry, teasing finger up Kevin’s crack.

They can’t fuck, like surely TK knows that. It’s late and they have a game tomorrow—they need to be up in just a few scant hours, a quick glance at the clock confirms—and they can’t and they shouldn’t and they really, really, really—

Are going to.

TK’s hands are on his thighs, groping at his ass, and Kevin is powerless to voice all the reasonable objections that he should. He has no interest in lying to himself, in lying to TK and pretending like this isn’t something that he wants. Something he hasn’t considered before, sure, but now that the option is on the table Kevin certainly isn’t turning his back on it.

TK’s fingers do another lap of his crack, lingering longer this time, daring to push a little deeper and Kevin lets out a breath he hadn’t been totally aware he was holding. He relaxes back into the touch. Grits something that’s too damn close to a whine, when TK does nothing more than skitter his hands back up Kevin’s flank again.

“Impatient,” TK asks.

“Just not sure if you were gonna do it. Maybe you’re just a lotta talk, Trav.”

TK’s tongue sticks to the corner of his lips, Kevin can see the way his teeth dig into the pretty pink of it. “Here,” he says, “sit up. Lemme get a better angle.” Which ends up to be not much different than how they’d started this whole thing, only with the roles reversed.

It’s Kevin with his thighs busted wide around TK’s hips, Kevin with his hands braced on TK’s chest, sliding up to cup his jaw. Kevin’s too tall, too much bigger for this to really feel much more than ridiculous. He’s going to say as much when TK pops the cap on the lube he had retrieved from his bag.

The audible snap of it tingles in Kevin’s gut, keeps the erection he had kind of been worried would flag stubbornly alive. TK’s nose brushes his collar bone, his teeth scrape across Kevin’s skin. A distracting counterpoint to TK’s fingers, the cool wet slide of the lube. Kevin bites down on another noise, jolts when TK works the tip of a finger against his asshole.

“You good,” TK asks, not pushing in yet, just slowly, slowly tracing the clench of Kevin’s hole.

“Yeah, I’m—it’s fine, Trav.”

“You done this before?”

“Not in any serious sort of capacity.”

That makes TK laugh, the bright sound of it kind of harsh, snorting in TK’s nose. It’s not sexy, rationally Kevin knows that, but his body isn’t with the program, and his cock twitches at the sound. TK is this unguarded, genuine thing. Kevin isn’t sure why it’s taken him so long to appreciate it.

“Wow,” TK says. “No pressure then I guess.” He rolls his eyes, the tip of his finger, presses and releases without ever breaching Kevin’s body. “I’ll  
make it good for you,” he says.

Kevin huffs. He cranes his neck back to glare down at TK. “You really—,” going to talk all night, is what Kevin wants to say but his visible annoyance must relax him further because as soon as he opens his mouth TK’s finger enters him.

“Oh,” Kevin grunts.

TK grins up at him. His finger presses into the first knuckle, crooks slightly, drags out. Kevin can feel each slow and careful motion. The way his nerves go a pinball machine bright when TK rubs his fingertip forward.

Kevin is blushing, his breathing deafening between them, when TK adds more lube, wriggles a second easy finger up into him. TK is small, smaller than Kevin at least, but he’s not tiny, and his fingers give a nice stretch. A little bit of a burn, a definite feeling of something. Kevin feels all locked up again, muscles holding, suspended, waiting. Waiting. Waiting for—

TK’s fingers find his prostate, they push up bluntly against the nerves and everything Kevin had been holding in his chest shakes loose. He goes liquid in TK’s arms, muscles going from stiff to jelly. TK curls his fingers forward, with purpose now that he’s got it. Pushed deep, all the way in, then dragging out only to fuck back in.

“Look at you,” TK says. His voice coming from deep in his chest all reverent and awed and rough. “Fuck, Kev, you take it so good.”

Kevin groans. He adjusts, shifts downward, lessening some of the pressure, his thighs spread further, inadvertently opening up more for TK’s fingers and beneath him TK purrs his approval. The two fingers in him twist and some of the lube they had eased the way with leaks back out with the motion; Kevin can feel it, dribbling free, he chokes another gut-wrenching sound between his teeth. 

“Easy,” TK soothes as his thumb smears the spillage back around the rim. He presses a surprisingly tender kiss to Kevin’s jaw, peppers them down along his throat. “I got you, man.”

Kevin nods, kisses TK’s forehead, his temple, the sweaty fall of his hair, the only places Kevin can reach without straining his neck. He rocks back into TK’s grip, TK’s slim, amazing hands. “I know,” he says.

“I’ll fight every one of the fucking Rangers tomorrow if I have to.”

Hearing it said so plainly stokes that thing in Kevin’s belly; that shameful arousal at the thought of TK really beating some asshole bloody all for Kevin. Kevin curses; his hips are rolling back constantly now, building a rhythm with TK’s fingers, fucking himself on them, anything to feed that yawning, twisting hunger. To get there.

“Shit, Teeks,” he mutters. “I think—it feels like—,”

His eyes are squeezed shut, but can hear TK swallow, hear TK’s rasping, “Gonna come from just your ass, Kev? Fuck, do it, man. Come on my fingers, baby.”

“I’ve never—,” Kevin is going to say, mouth opening over the objection. He’s never done that. And he’s pretty sure he can’t, but TK’s fingers screw deep, and flicker firmly against that spot he’s been prodding all night and the coil that had been brewing and boiling and building, building all spills loose. Kevin’s whole world goes to fucking static, narrowed down to TK’s fingers and his own pulsing cock. The blood in his ears stutters and stalls and there is nothing in Kevin’s head but the echoing of his own frantic panting breaths.

“Shit,” he hears TK say and it’s only then that he realizes his eyes are still closed. He opens them, glances down to where TK is staring up at him with open admiration. Stupid, cocky, dumbass smile on his stupid, cocky, dumbass face. “That was so fucking hot, Kev.”

“Shut up, Trav.”

“Never done it before, huh,” TK says, teasing. His fingers flicker against Kevin’s prostate again and Kevin flinches, whines, overstimulated. TK kisses the bob of his Adam’s apple. His lips are bright red still, chaffed a little from Kevin’s stubble. It’s hot in a way Kevin has never considered before. “Sorry,” TK says.

He doesn’t sound fucking sorry at all.

But it’s not like they’re competing for any Oscars here.

Kevin sits up from where he had slumped, sways a little on his knees, dizzy with the lasting echo of his orgasm. His fucking orgasm. His goddamn jizz all over TK’s belly, arcs of it splashed up into the sparse hair between TK’s pecs. Kevin scoots back, lifts himself gently from TK’s lap.

“Like what you see,” TK says. He lays back into the pillows, really stretches to his full height. Whipcord muscles, lithe and lean.

Kevin reaches his hand over, rubs his thumb through one of the slick trails of his own spend, works it into the skin. “Yeah,” he says. “I like it a lot.”

TK blinks, his face flickers over several emotions, settles on something slightly less shit-eating than his normal grin. “I think I like it too,” TK says. He shifts, his leg brushes Kevin’s, thigh to thigh, and Kevin glances down to where TK is leaking into the mess on his belly. His cock is slender and dark.

Velvety soft when Kevin reaches out to run his fingers along it. His hands are so big TK’s cock fits easily into the space between two of his knuckles. Kevin squeezes around the base, spreads his fingers to brush the sensitive skin there in the no-man’s land between thigh and dick.

“Shit, dude,” TK groans at the first somewhat hesitant touch. “Yeah, I definitely like this.”

TK is an electric wire, a shock of static. He lives within every absolute inch of skin. And here with his cock hard and jutting between Kevin’s fingers it’s not different. His mouth opens over a soft, wet gasp, and he shudders with his full body when Kevin strokes him.

“Your hands are huge, Kev,” he says.

“Thanks.”

TK laughs. It’s a hopelessly broken little sound. All caught up behind his nose, crushed under the weight of the arousal he’s so clearly feeling. He doesn’t flush quite as fully as Kevin does, their complexions are too different, but there isn’t as much hair to block the blush of his skin either.

Kevin traces his hand up TK’s abs, tweaks at TK’s nipple, watches the way the brown skin goes rosy with interest. He chuckles when Teeks kicks at him, whining in his throat. “God, fuck, can you—Haysie, please—nn if you—,”

“Yeah, Teeks, tell me what you need.”

“Touch me, you fuckin’ dick!”

Kevin returns his hand to TK’s dick, too turned on by the power trip of watching Konecny’s expression twitch and slacken to keep up any sort of teasing. “Tell me what you like,” Kevin says.

“Christ, Kev, this is—‘s good, dude. I won’t—isn’t going to be—fuck! Fuck!”

While the garbled babbling hadn’t quite been what Kevin was aiming for, it does the trick. Bolsters his ego in the exact same manner. He watches TK come apart in his palm. Watches TK groan and moan, rolling his hips up to meet Kevin’s strokes, as loud and vocal here as he ever is. Kevin is enraptured, enamored.

TK is so vulnerable for him. So unafraid of giving himself over, of showing his whole hand, of playing the game with one-thousand percent of himself. Kevin grits his teeth, his cock aches, not hard again but threatening. A power trip. Kevin is thinking about trying to do something about it when TK grabs at his shoulders, pulling him down for a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss.

“Don’t stop, Kev,” he’s mumbling against Kevin’s lips. “Please. Gonna come. Shit, Haysie, I’m gonna come.”

And all Kevin can answer is, “Yeah, Trav, yeah. Come for me, man. I’ve got you.”

True to his word, TK does come, mouth open and back bowing forward so sharply it’s a wonder his spine doesn’t snap. He breathes all shaky and soft against Kevin’s lips, apparently unable to do anything more. True to his word, Kevin does have him. He jacks him off through the messy rush of his orgasm, milks him firm and steady until TK’s hand finds his wrist and eases him off.

TK sounds more than a little punch drunk when he says, “Wow, Kev, that was somethin’ fuckin’ else, man.”

Kevin chuckles. He wipes his hand off in the already ruined sheets. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess it was. Thanks, Teeks.”

“Don’t thank me, asshole.”

For a second they are quiet. Kevin has just enough time to wonder if maybe this is when it gets weird, gets awkward, gets clumsy and unsure, but then TK rolls his shoulders and says, “So you feeling any better?”

And it’s sort of hard to feel any lingering awkwardness when TK is such a wrecking ball. A bulldozer. The best kinda guy.

Kevin considers the question. The weight of it. Tomorrow—today, really, again the clock on the night standing acting as the silent judgemental witness to this whole thing—he will skate into the MSG as an enemy. Against a team that was his home once, his buddies, his family. But the key word is once. The past tense of it.

It doesn’t matter what they had been. What matters is what they are now, which is one more team to beat on the Flyers’ trip up the division standings. The Flyers his home, the Flyers his buddies, the Flyers his family. Now. Immediate.

Immediate.

TK is watching him, grinning sort of absently through whatever faces Kevin must be making. He looks fucked out still, hair all messed up and cheeks still dusted pink. When their eyes meet, Kevin returns the grin, feels the way his own pulls from one side of his lips to the other. 

“That a yes, Haysie?”

“Yeah, it is.”

It’s a lot more than that. It’s so, so much more. But Kevin doesn’t say it, he isn’t sure that he needs to. TK has proven to be so weirdly in tune with Kevin’s feelings, more perceptive than his annoying upbeat nature would belay. The best kind of guy.

Just the absolute best.


End file.
